Can’t Buy Me a Duke by Bianca Blythe
CHAPTER TEN
Harrison approachedthe tall, well-dressed blonde woman. Strands of pearl necklaces swept around her neck, the pale color contrasting against her regal indigo gown. The somber jewels always suited her. The Duchess of Sturbridge always looked immaculate, and tonight was no exception.
“Mother,” Harrison said.
Her pale eyebrows swept upward, and her eyes landed on the Banks family.
A sour taste invaded Harrison’s throat, but he forced himself to smile. “I would like to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Banks and their daughter, Miss Banks, and their other daughter, Miss Isabella Banks.”
“So many people.” The duchess moved her hand to her heart in an elegant, practiced motion. Her mouth dropped open, slightly forming a perfect O shape.
“It is a pleasure,” Mrs. Banks exclaimed. “We’ve been so happy to see how much your son has taken to our daughter.”
His mother’s eyebrows lurched even higher, and Harrison had the distinct feeling this action was not practiced. She surveyed Lucy, running her gaze over her with the expertise of a modiste challenged to make a dress without procuring any measurements by hand.
Lucy shivered, and her face pinkened. Even her chin wobbled.
Damnation.
He shot a warning look at the duchess.
“How quaint,” the duchess said icily. “You’re an American.”
“I am,” Lucy said.
“Utterly amusing. No wonder my dear son is taken with you. He must find it astonishing to hear the manner you mispronounce simple words.”
Lucy blinked.
“Don’t you find the way she speaks most curious, my dear Harrison?” the duchess continued.
Harrison jutted out his chin. “I don’t find it curious at all.”
“Well, that must not be the reason why my son is intrigued by you then.” Her eyes narrowed. “One does wonder what the reason must be. Certainly, I can’t tell. There are so many.”
“Mother.” Harrison had a steely edge to his voice he hoped the duchess heard.
She laughed. “You must forgive me. It’s quite late, and I am quite old. I tire easily.”
Mrs. Banks shot a worried look at Mr. Banks.
Harrison despised this. Why must the duchess be so rude to the Banks? They hadn’t done anything to her. And yet he knew exactly why: she did not want him to marry. Well, she didn’t have to worry about that.
“Mr. and Mrs. Banks are visiting England with their daughters for a brief time.” Harrison hoped the duchess would take notice of the word brief and decide not to waste any more time making snide comments as if she were a soldier whose only method of fighting was to use the vilest words.
“What do you make of London?” the duchess asked. “Where are you from?”
“New York,” Mr. Banks said.
“New York, how very quaint. How adorable.”
“There is nothing adorable about New York,” Mr. Banks said stiffly.
“No? Perhaps you haven’t been paying attention to it.”
“My mother hasn’t forgiven the former colonies for rebelling all those years ago,” Harrison said hastily.
The duchess laughed and flapped her fan. “On the contrary, we scarcely gave any resources in our fight to keep them. Had we done so, naturally, they would have remained. Who could care about something so meager? There weren’t any sugar plantations on the land, after all. We retained our Caribbean colonies.”
“If you read the newspapers, you might find the former colonies are not that weak, after all,” Mr. Banks said.
“Is that so?” The duchess gave him a hard stare. “How curious. I suppose that’s what the newspapers in your country would print.”
Harrison decided to ignore her statement. Instead, he turned to Lucy. “Perhaps, Miss Banks, we could have this dance?”
Lucy appeared startled, as if she’d half expected him to say he was entirely too busy to dance. But she nodded, and he led her to the dance floor, leaving her family with the duchess.
“I’m certain it’s a bad idea to leave them there together.” Harrison glanced toward Lucy’s parents, who appeared to still be attempting stilted conversation with the duchess. “I couldn’t bear to remain.”
“They’ll be fine. We Americans are a tough people, after all.”
He snorted. “I believe that.”
They waited at the side of the dance floor for people to finish their dance.
“She didn’t seem pleased to meet us,” Lucy said.
“You’re correct,” he admitted reluctantly.
“Is there someone else she wants you to be matched with?” Lucy’s voice trembled for some reason, and he turned to her sharply, but she was examining the floor.
“No one in particular. In fact, she’s quite pleased with how things are.”
She tilted her head. “I see.”
“In other words, you have no competition, my dear.”
She giggled, and his heart soared.
The musicians switched to a waltz, and he led her onto the dance floor, then held her in his arms. They spun to the music. Normally, he wasn’t fond of waltzing. It was more pleasurable, he’d always thought, to do a reel and leap about the dance floor in rhythm.
Now they glided along, but nothing about the waltz felt dull or boring now. The candles in the large candelabras flickered pleasantly and the whole room sparkled, aided by the hostess’s insistence on gilding much of the walls as if she were trying to rival the walls of French nobility in the last century.
“You should laugh more often,” he told her.
“Oh?”
For some reason, her face sobered, and he regretted saying anything. “Only if you find things amusing.”
“Then you’re not suggesting I become an actress.”
He shook his head rapidly. “Certainly not.”
“I’ll resist the temptation to run off on the stage and perform—”
“Comedies,” he finished. “Tragedies would have you crying more often, which, though also unpleasant, was not the particular situation I wanted you to avoid.”
She grinned. “You’re rambling.”
“Perhaps.” He spun her around. “I’m new to being a faux suitor.”
“You’ll be an expert the next time a woman sneaks into your library, trying to hand you some money to court her.”
He chuckled. “That’s true.”
“You can write me a letter about it when I’m back in New York,” she said softly.
He nodded. Suddenly, he didn’t think it was a very good idea for her to return to New York.
The waltz ended, and they waited for a new dance. The air seemed thicker than before, and her delicious jasmine scent wafted around him.
A fast-tempoed song began, and they joined the other dancers in a cotillion. They parted, and he watched her dance with the other dancers, observing the manner in which her coiled red locks bounced. He suddenly had an urge to feel her locks against his fingers.
Finally, they reached each other again.
“You’re beautiful,” he said.
Her eyes sparkled, and she gazed around.
No one though was in earshot, and puzzlement drifted over her face.
He frowned slightly. She shouldn’t think he’d only said that for the benefit of other people. “That shade of green suits you. It matches your eyes.”
She smiled awkwardly.
Perhaps it was best to change the discussion.
“It’s nice you’re so close to your mother,” Lucy said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Are you close with your mother?”
Lucy shot a glance toward her mother, as if worried her mother might suddenly be imbued with superior hearing powers. “Not in particular.”
“I’m actually not that close with my mother,” he said.
“You’re letting her live in your place on Grosvenor Square.”
“I’m quite fond of the Robertson’s Gentlemen Club,” Harrison insisted.
“Indeed?”
“Yes. Everything is nearby, including a whole group of people with whom to converse. Nothing is ever dull.”
“Is that important to you?” She gazed at him, and he averted his eyes, conscious of their bright emerald color. It would be too easy to stare into them.
He mused over her question. Dullness might lead to thoughts, and thoughts might lead to memories he’d vowed to forget. “Sometimes it’s nice to converse.”
She nodded. “I suppose so.”
He felt an odd sense of disappointment, as if he’d missed an opportunity to share more with her, even though he avoided sharing things with anyone.